Because we were Brothers
by Rowana Renee
Summary: What if Tus HADN'T pressed the jewel after Dastan stabbed himself? What would have happened then? For Legolas Thranduilion, my Mind Twin XD Rated for...death, obviously. Because we NEVER abuse characters. Pshhhyeah right XD
1. 1

**A/N: I am SOOOOOO sorry if I get this messed up; I wanted to do the actual scene but I can't find a clip to study so I'm writing it from memory and therefore some of the details will be off, but I hope you like it anyways. This is for a fantastic friend, Legolas Thranduilion! *Waves* and...actually the rest of this doesn't say anything so I don't know why you're still reading the bold font lol ^?^ Anyways, since odds are none of you thought that was funny, here's the story ^?^**

~_Because we were Brothers~_

Breathless, that was the one word that could describe what Tus was feeling as he watched his youngest brother plunge a dagger into his own chest. It felt as if all of the air had just been sucked out of the room, like he was under water, like the world was in slow motion. He felt paralysed, unable to move even an inch. All he could do was stare in horror as blood began to spread across the front of his brothers' tunic. The light had already left the boys' eyes, faded to but a flicker for a few moments and then gone out completely. He was dead, and it was Tus' fault. That was why Tus couldn't breathe.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that Dastan was falling and, absentmindedly, he moved to catch him before he could hit the ground. The deadweight was disturbing; his brother had never been like this, so limp. Even when he slept he'd remained rigid and tense as if he expected to be attacked at any moment, never as still as he was now. He used to jump and run and irritate the guards by stealing their helmets and running up the sides of buildings before anyone could stop him. Now he couldn't even support his own weight.

Tus blinked rapidly, staring at the dagger that was still grasped in his brothers' limp hand. What was it that Dastan had said about it? Tus tried to remember but he couldn't even breathe; his world was suddenly much too small, containing only himself and his lifeless brother, cradled in his arms and not stirring, not the smallest rise and fall of his chest to indicate that this was what Tus so dearly wished that it could be; a terrible mistake that could be rectified, not something so irriversable as true death.

He gripped Dastans' hand tightly, rubbing the fingers and almost trying to will him back to life. He was speaking, but he didn't know what words he was saying, he just babbled mindlessly, his voice choked and weary, begging his brother not to really be gone.

Thirty seconds had passed, unnoticed, unchecked, not acted upon.

Tamina didn't knkow how she'd kept the horrified gasp hidden inside herself as she watched Dastan recklessly drive the dagger into himself. What had he been thinking? And surely Tus couldn't have long to act now before the deed was sealed in time, unable to be changed in any way by anything man could do. She clenched her hands into fists, wanting to shriek at Tus to hurry up and use the dagger, to go back and reverse what had just happened.

But Tus just knelt there, and Tamina couldn't breathe. She was almost unwilling to, feeling such tension and unease that it felt wrong to even continue to live, let alone actually dare to take a single breath before she knew if Dastan was going to be alright or not. She felt like she was walking along the edge of the very dagger that had brought about his death, wobbling unsteadily and being forced to stare at the very thing that could save him but unable to do anything about it because to do so would risk her own death as well as his, which would be followed by the death of many others as well.

She closed her eyes tightly and sank slowly, quietly, to the floor. She felt faint, weak, her very soul seemed to be shaking. In her mind she pleaded with Tus to take up the dagger, not to linger in grief so long that Dastan would be lost. She knew that it was futile, that nothing she could do would have any affect on what Tus chose to do with the short time that was given to him.

And the thought took her breath away.

Another thirty seconds had passed, felt so strongly that they might have been a physical force, as painful as fire searing across the soul, unable to be used and thus more feared than a forest of mirrors.

Tus sighed, a hard sob racking his body as he allowed his head to droop against his brothers' chest. This wasn't fair, this was wrong, this was vile! First his father had died, then one brother, then the next, and now his one remaining sibling was dead. He was alone. But there was something he could do about it, wasn't there? There was something, Dastan himself had said it.

He searched his memory, looking for anything that Dastan had said that might help him now. He could almost hear his brothers' voice in his head, and that alone was almost as painful as the initial loss had been. One sentence kept throwing itself at him, lingering at the edge of his mind and never coming into the light, always just out of reach. He couldn't find anything, it was like being blind inside a thunderstorm. He was lost, completely and utterly lost.

_Press the jewel in the hilt of the dagger..._

Tus jumped as if surprised, his eyes wide as the solution finally came to him. He felt a flicker of hope stir within as he slowly reached to pick up the dagger, feeling as if the weight of the entire world was resting on him. He looked at the dagger for a long moment, desperately hoping that his brothers' words were true. He didn't know what he would do if they weren't; he didn't know what to believe or think or even think about thinking. He'd never been so confused in his entire life.

But at least this one thing was easy. This one little part of something that had suddenly become so big, this part was simple. All he had to do was trust what Dastan had said and press the jewel. But what if it didn't work? What if he'd gotten his hopes up for nothing? What if he was wrong? What if Dastan really had killed their father?

He groaned and closed his eyes, taking another several moments before finally he took a deep breath and pressed the jewel, the dagger held in shaking hands as he prayed for all the world that this would work, that this one little thing was going to go right.

Suddenly he was surrounded by red lighting, feeling like he was being pulled backwards, unsure of what was happening to him. His eyes widened; Dastans' words had been true then! But something was wrong, he could feel it. Surely now he could stop his brother from dying in the first place, he could do that much, couldn't he?

And then Dastan was falling against him again, gasping quietly at the pain that was already fading from the stab wound he'd afflicted on himself. Tus caught him once more, this time even more upset because he'd already done this, he hadn't wanted to repeat it, only to stop it from happening. "No!" he yelled, trying to hold his brother up, to keep him alive somehow. "The dagger," he gasped, "You already died! You can't, not again!"

Dastan smiled faintly, his breath faltering. "So you did press the jewel..." he muttered.

Tus nodded, tears beginning to cascade. "But I was supposed to go back farther; I might as well have done nothing!"

Dastan sighed heavily, his head lolling. "But you still pressed it...you know now...f...find Tamina, you can still..." his voice trailed off and he took several deep breaths, trying to steady himself but unsuccessful.

Tus wanted to throw him across the room right then, his sadness replaced with something close to rage. "Why did you even come here?" he roared.

Dastan lifted his head a little, looking at him almost curiously. And then he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world,

"Because we were brothers."

And neither of them could breathe.

Another five years had passed, lonely and defiled by grief. They'd passed while those who watched them go watched through eyes glazed and shadowed with all that could have been, they'd passed as cold and weary moments, drained by the thoughts of what should have been done and memories of what never should have happened. They'd passed by, as time does, and there'd been nothing to do but weep.


	2. 2

Chapter One: It's Just so Cold

He was vaguely aware that he had just done something very stupid.

Dastan was cold, that was the first thing that he realized. After that came the sense that he was falling, falling through total darkness and unable to move to make an attempt to save himself. Although, what was he trying to save himself _from _exactly? He couldn't see anything, nothing but the unending blackness that consumed him. He couldn't even feel anything, and there was no memory rising in his mind to tell him what had happened. There was nothing to do but fall.

But he was so _cold_.

Maybe if he hadn't been quite so cold he could have dealt with this; he didn't mind falling terribly much and there was an all consuming apathy that swallowed him, swirling in his mind and pinning him in a still position, unable to bring himself to care if he fell for another eternity. But he was _cold_. The cold was what bothered him. He didn't like being cold and he wasn't sure how much more he could take, or if it mattered.

He found himself quite suddenly locked in a mental battle over whether or not he actually cared that he was so cold. And that was another thing that he wasn't prepared for, because either way the argumant went he was going to lose, since he was arguing with himself and all. He gave a frustrated growl, startled when he felt the vibration in the back of his throat but couldn't actually hear anything.

Now that was odd. The whole point of growling was so one could hear it. Otherwise it had no purpose unless there was an audiance.

Annoyed by that train of thought, yet still unable to care very much anyway, he sighed heavily. "This is wonderful..." he muttered.

Or _had _he said anything? He couldn't hear his own voice, so there was no way of knowing. Startled, he gave a small yelp in hopes of proving to himself that he could in fact still hear.

There was no sound.

That set him screaming wildly and thrashing about, wondering if the movement would erase some of this horrible, cold numbness that seemed to have encased him in its frozen fingers. The silence continued, ensnaring him like some wicked trap from which he couldn't escape. His eyes became wide with terror as he realized that not only could he not see or hear, he couldn't feel himself either. He had no awareness of where arms, legs, fingers, anything was in relation to the rest of him. It was like he didn't exist.

The thrashing became more violent and he instintively reached upward, trying to find his own face. But there was nothing. He knew he should have come in contact with something by now, but there was nothing there. The reason that his existence was as if he didn't exist was simple, he didn't exist.

His screams of fear gradually died down as he gasped for breath, realizing with horror that, though his breath was ragged and shallow, he had to be imagining it. Because he wasn't breathing. His panic grew and he flailed all the more, trying to convince himself that he'd been drugged by someone, that this couldn't possibly be real, but it was.

Or maybe it wasn't real, he certainly wasn't. Only the cold was truly real, that and the pain that lanced through his chest with no warning, drawing from him a silent howl of agonized terror, unheard by anyone or anything except the cold.

And then he felt a violent pulling sensation, being dragged upwards before he had time to contemplate it. He felt sick, memories and emotions suddenly flooding his mind and making him scream again, this time out of nothing but pain, senseless pain, as it ripped through him with such a force that it made him feel faint and-

He was vaguely aware that he had just done something very very stupid. But that didn't really matter, what mattered was that he had a dagger sticking out of his chest and was relying totally on the faith of his older brother if he were to remain alive. Well, he was going to die, he knew, but as long as his brother pressed the jewel on the dagger then he'd be fine.

He staggered a step, colliding with something and wrenching his eyes open, blinking rapidly to fucus his vision.

Tus' face swam before him, making him giddy with relief. But something was wrong; his brothers' face was showing an odd mix of confusion, horror, and curiosity. He sighed deeply, the truth of what had really occured finally dawning on him. Tus' face twisted in grief and he suddenly spoke, his voice like a trumpet, oddly loud.

"No!"

Dastan wanted to flinch away from the sound, but found that he couldn't.

He felt Tus hold him more closely, now more of a hug than a supportive grasp. "The dagger...you already died! You can't, not again!"

Dastan felt like he was either dreaming or underwater, things beginning to seem funny even though he was all too aware of how dire his circumstances were. This couldn't be real, and yet, here he was. He wondered what death had felt like the first time, and if any of the other people he'd meet in the afterlife would remember him or if they were just as affected by the dagger as he was. He smiled faintly, looking up at Tus as best as he could, feeling as if his head were actually a rather heavy stone that was just impossible to lift.

"So you did press the jewel..." he mumbled, voice slurred and uneven, like he was terribly drunk.

He wanted to get as far away from Tus as he could when his brothers' voice entered his hearing again. "But I was supposed to go back farther; I might as well have done nothing!"

Now Dastan didn't know whether he cared about that or not. He felt horrible that his brother was so distraught, and yet now, as he felt something important teasing his thoughts, just out of reach, he had more important things to bother with in his last moments than what Tus was feeling. There was something horribly important that he'd been supposed to say, but he could feel himself slipping away and settled with the most important thing he could think of. And could still pronounce, the very action of breathing becoming too much for him.

"But...you still pressed it..." he mumbled, "you know now. F...find Tamina...you can still..." his voice trailed off as his strength failed him, leaving him feeling weak and helpless in his brothers' arms, totally limp and barely able to keep away from the welcoming depths of darkness that beckoned to him so clearly.

Tus' voice suddenly screamed in his ear, tearing into his mind and biting like the dagger itself. "Why did you even come here?"

Dastan gave a small shudder, using all of his concentration to get his eyes open one more time. He took several deep breaths, already knowing that they were his last. He'd finally remembered what he was supposed to tell Tus, the warning he'd carried back from the first death. But he couldn't bring himself to say it, something more important intruding into his mind from his heart before he could stop himself.

"Because we were brothers."

And then he fell again, this time much further, past the reaches of anything that could have pulled him back. This time it was forever.

And he was cold.

* * *

**Next chapter will have Tus again, and then what's really going on. I wanted to let you know about Dastan first, so now you know that there was SOMETHING he was supposed to say, but didn't. What's gonna happen now? I can tell you this, it's going to enter the stage of MINDBLOWING soon. I've got a twist planned like you won't believe...actually...you'll prolly hate me for it lol ^?^**


	3. 3

Chapter Two: Love and War

Eyes wide in horror, Tamina watched as Dastan crumpled in his brothers' grip, all signs of life vanishing in an instant. She wanted to scream as loudly as she could at Tus, to tell him to press the jewel and bring Dastan back. But she already knew that she couldn't, for two reasons. The first was that she'd heard the brief exchange between Tus and Dastan, she knew that this had already happened and that there was no undoing the deed now. The other was, perhaps, a little more cruel. To speak even one word would give away her presense and, though she knew that Tus would have no choice but to believe Dastan now, she had no idea how he would react. He may still be a bit hostile, and that wasn't a chance she was willing to take.

It was maddening.

But maybe...maybe there was something she could do. She'd heard Dastan say that Tus needed to find her, and she had no time for grief at the moment. She could worry with that after she finished getting the dagger to safety, and in order to do that she would need Tus' help. Yes, she thought, she had to focus on her new task. Find a way to contact Tus and, hopefully, get him to help her. Mourning Dastan could come later. And yet, she was surprised to find that it was disturbingly difficult to push her sadness over his death to the side. She felt as if she'd just lost something important, part of herself even. She shook her head softly, shaking the thoughts away as she pondered what to do.

She could, of course, throw caution to the winds and run into view, plead with him to aid her and swear on Dastans' soul that she only wanted the safety of the dagger, that she would continue with her promise to wed Tus, even, if he would simply help her. That or she could follow in Dastans' footsteps, knowing that if something so drastic happened again odds were Tus would be pressing the dagger before she could so much as think of repeating Dastans' act. However, when she really thought of that, she knew that that wouldn't do any good; Tus already knew for certain that what Dastan had said about the dagger was true. And that left Tamina in an odd place indeed; she didn't have any idea what to do now.

She lingered in her thoughts for several moments, eventually deciding that the best course of action would be to simply leave a note for Tus where he could easily find it, telling him to meet her somewhere more private than this palace. Perhaps in the market somewhere, or better yet somewhere near the outskirts of town, well out from under the gaze of potential viewers. It wouldn't do at all for any of the palace servents or, worse, Nizam, to see the two of them.

She nodded slowly, closing her eyes and breathing deeply before slowly standing and silently walking, almost drifting, she moved so silently, around her hiding place, looking for a scrap of paper and something to write with. Ah, there was a bit of parchment and, a little further away, near one of the doors, a torch hanging on the wall. That should contain some ash, and she could use that to write.

But then the surge of anger hit her and she could contain her lament no more.

She found herself thinking wicked thoughts directed at Dastan, as if he were still there and could hear her voice, hear her mentally screaming at him. Why couldn't he have found another way to convince Tus besides killing himself? Why had he been so stupid as to actually put trust in the man who'd lost faith in him so easily? Why hadn't he warned her of his plan? And why, _why _had he made her _fall in love with him_?

Now there was a thought that shocked her greatly. Still, she found that she couldn't honestly deny the fact. She knew that, were the thought a false one, she wouldn't feel nearly so torn at his loss. He would have been just another number on her mental list of those who'd fallen for the sake of the dagger. Well, scratch that, he hadn't fallen for the dagger. He'd fallen for his honour. His cursed pride that drove him to avenge his fathers' death and prove his own innocence. Was that really such a noble task as he must have believed? Could it really be worth it when he'd had to resort to leaving Taminas' heart in tatters to acomplish it?

She sighed quietly, making sure not to disturb Tus or gain his attention in any way, and slowly reached up into the torch, coating her fingers in ash before quickly writing a message on the parchment. Now she just had to figure out where to leave it...

She looked up swiftly at the sound of Tus moving, only to let out a relieved breath when she realized he was only picking up the dagger. She felt a surge of sympathy towards him; he looked so dazed, so hurt. He looked like he'd actually cared. Not, of course, that Tamina cared that he cared. He may as well have been the one to kill Dastan, as far as she was concerned. And he'd ordered her city to be destroyed, and for that she would eternally loathe him.

She carefully wedged the note between the torch and that which held it to the wall, plainly visible. She hoped that Tus would find it soon, wouldn't make her wait terribly long to find out whether he was worth half of what Dastan had thought he was or not. Now she had to find a way out of here, and quickly at that. She searched the area with her eyes, making her way toward the far corner of her hiding place. There was a window there that she could escape through.

Lucky that she'd noticed it, because that was when the door came open to admit Nizam.

* * *

Nizam was a busy man. He had better things to do than coddle his oldest nephew over every little part of his plans that happened to put the boy in distress. That was the one downside to plotting someones' death- and the death of their whole family- behind their back; if they didn't know about it then everything that led up to their demise bothered and saddened them.

He stood outside of the door to his nephews' chamber, slowly but surely working up the patience to actually enter. He was looking forward to the day all of this was finished, when he could go back and stop himself from saving that useless brother of his and stop his two irritating nephews from ever being born. Well, one was dead already. There was a third as well, but in Nizams' eyes he didn't really count, he never had. He was just the trash that had been brought in from the sewer, his brothers' gift to him to make his plans work better. That was how he saw it. Dastan wasn't a living thing, he was a tool. And soon he would be a very dead tool.

That comfortin thought in mind Nizam pushed the door open.

And saw his very dead tool lying on the floor, blood pooling around him and Tus kneeling by his head, a dazed look about him. Now here was something Nizam hadn't expected at all. He raised an eyebrow, unsure of whether to be impressed or annoyed. He shook off the irritation and strode into the room, putting on an air of total shock.

"Tus!"

Tus jumped and turned to look at him, his face stained heavily with tears and a woeful expression in his eyes. "Uncle!" he gasped, "Dastan..." he gestured vaguely to the prone figure on the floor, "He...he killed himself, uncle, he stabbed himself..."

Nizam blinked slowly, trying not to betray his growing annoyance; the very sight of this boy breathing made his blood boil. "Then he chose the way of the coward." he said calmly, "Come away, nephew. His death simply means one less thing for you to lose sleep over."

Tus rose much faster than Nizam had expected him to, his eyes flashing with fury as his greif melted to anger. "Dastan was many things," he roared, "But never a coward!"

Nizam sighed heavily. "Perhaps." he grated, "Now come away, nephew. I'll send a guard to remove the..." he gazed at Dastan in disgust, "body. And you, nephew, you are in shock; a draft of something strong and some rest will serve you well before we discuss the more pressing matters of this day, now come."

Tus continued to glower at him. "He said that you-!" he stopped himself abruptly, eyes widening and a pained expression crossing his features.

Nizam tilted his head a bit, confused. "He said what?"

Tus looked away, staring at a torch as if it had caught his interest for a long moment before closing his eyes. "N...nothing, uncle...nothing." he muttered, walking out of the room and, Nizam noticed, brushing lightly against the wall as he neared the torch. That was interesting...interesting indeed.

Nizam glared at the world in general, finally turning his attention to the still form of his adopted nephew. "Well, Dastan," he purred, "Where are you hiding that dagger?"

He approached the body, feeling that something wasn't quite right. Ah, there was something odd; he could see a wound but no weapon. A scowl lined the features of his face as he contemplated the possibilities. Perhaps Tus had taken it...he coughed and stood up, making his way to the door.

"Guards!" he barked before he reached the exit of the room, "Remove this...filth."

The guard entered hastily, brushing past Nizam without a word. He didn't need to say anything; he already knew of Nizams' plot, knew that he would receive more gold than he could count in the end if complied, there wasn't anything _to _say.

Nizam looked at him coldly, a grim smile touching his lips ever so lightly. "Take him to the chamber," he whispered, "Our young desert rat has a few secrets yet."

The guard nodded and easily hoisted Dastan into his arms, bowing his head slightly as he walked past Nizam once more.

That done, Nizam turned his attention to the torch.

And saw a small scrap of parchment that was smudged with ash. He snatched it deftly from its position and unfolded it, reading over it quickly. His smile widened to one of absolute glee.

This couldn't be anymore perfect.

* * *

**OMG! What did I just do? Lol...^?^ I only hope Tamina's alright, and Nizam. He doesn't really say much, does he? So I'm just making him eeeeeviiiiiil in hopes that that covers it. Sad thing is, I'm modling him slightly after MY uncle lol ^?^ Another sad thing...I think he's funny...*Cowers* But now we've come to an interesting place. One where I annoy you.**

**What do YOU think is going to happen? What do YOU think that Nizam is thinking? WTH is going on with Dasty? (Because there's SOMETHING going on) And WHAT ON EARTH IS TUS GONNA DOOOOO? XP **

**In loo of answering that, here's the "EVERY THREE CHAPTERS QUESTION OF THE DAY!"**

**Out of these three choices, which would you most like to see? (Because it MAY just influence my next P.O.P. fanfic...O_O)**

**A. Dastan gets de-aged by the dagger in the end of the film, which means that the whole thing works out as it did in the film. Except that he winds up three years old and having everyone look at him like "WTD?" (What. The. Dastan. Because hell relates to the devil and we all know that Dastan is a cute little devil lol ^?^)**

**B. A What Would Happen If focussing on what would have happened if Bis hadn't been killed in the beginning.**

**C. Other-Please elaborate in your review XD**

**OMG Longest chapter yet! WHOO HOO! ^?^ **


	4. 4

Chapter 3: I'll Miss the Storm in Your Eyes

Tus groaned as he lay back on his bed, eyes tightly closed and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He couldn't believe what he'd just witnessed, or that his uncle, the man he'd trusted and loved for his entire life, was trying to kill him and had spoken of Dastan so harshly. It didn't matter that only hours before he himself had thought such horrible things about his youngest brother that they couldn't be repeated, the fact that his uncle had said such things disgusted him. Dastan had never been a coward, to say so was like a vile sin beyond contemplation. It angered Tus to even imagine it over in his mind.

But not as much as the fact that Dastan was dead. His lively, foolish, sarcastic brother who had done so much. Dead. It was simply unfair, unthinkable. There was something wrong with the very admition that it was possible. But so had been the thought of a dagger that could turn back time by one minute, and that had proved to be true.

He gritted his teeth, knowing that now it was up to him to find a way to stop Nizam before anything else could happen. But how could he when the thoughts swirling around in his head were so grievious? How could he think of anything else when he had just been left truly alone, both brothers dead, the closest friend of his youngest brother dead, and his father, dead. He had no one left, and that was all he could focus on.

An image flashed before his eyes of Dastan, blood pouring from a self-inflicted wound to his chest, and his eyes flew open. Ah, so this time it was just a memory. Not he, Tus, forcing his brother to die again because of his own mistake. Tears began to well again before he could stop them, and a strangled moan was torn from him as other memories arose to torment him.

~Flashback~

_Tus raised an eyebrow as his father stepped to the side, revealing a small boy of around ten or eleven, covered in dirt and bearing a confused expression. What was this rabble that the king had brought in? They didn't need anymore servents so why would his boy be here. He realized that his father was speaking and looked up at him, eyes sparkling with curiosity._

_"Tus, Garsiv, this is Dastan," Sharaman said slowly, "He is now your brother and you will both treat him as such."_

_Garsiv, fourteen years old, tilted his head, a frown creasing his features. "But mother's dead." he said bluntly, "How can he be our brother? You haven't been married again..."_

_Tus rolled his eyes. "Garsiv, even if father was married there wouldn't have been enough time; look at him," he nodded at the street rat standing next to their father, "He's too old to be-"_

_Garsiv snorted and jabbed Tus in the side. "I knew that!" he defended, "If he's not from a wife then where did he come from?" he took a step closer, inspecting the street rat with careful eyes._

_Dastan watched him the whole time, stepping a little closer to Sharaman and, without realizing it, hiding behind the man. Ah, so he was afraid. _

_Tus blinked and looked up at their father. "Why, father?" he asked curiously._

_Sharaman smiled softly at him and gave Dastan a little push toward him. "You will see in time, Tus. Now, I want you and Garsiv to show Dastan to your chambers, get him a bath, and then let him choose a room for himself." With that he walked away, leaving the street rat alone with his two new brothers._

_Dastan still looked nervous, every muscle in his body tense as he prepared for flight; he knew how royalty and nobles could be, growing up in the streets he would have a natural fear of them. _

_Garsiv tilted his head up a bit, looking down his nose at the newcomer. "Where did you come from? Father never said."_

_Dastan seemed to have an inner battle over whether to reply or not, eventually deciding that he may as well. "I'm-"_

_Tus interrupted quickly. "He's from the streets, Gar." he said, "Now hurry up and come with me so we can get this over with."_

Dastan shot him a small glare. "You know my name..." he mumbled.

_Garsiv shrugged, now bored, and hurried away to practice with his sword some more. Great, now Tus was alone with the street rat. He glowered at Dastan with all of the strength he had and then led the way toward his chamber. He couldn't believe he was going to have this gutter waif in his chambers. _

_Dastan sighed quietly and followed. Eventually he worked up the nerve to speak again. "If...if we're brothers now-"_

_Tus gave him a look of near loathing. "We're not brothers," he growled, "You're not from my mother, our blood is not the same, you are _not _my brother." _

_He could tell from the expression on Dastans' face that the boy probably wished he was back on the streets right then. And then he watched as the street rat gathered his courage and spoke again, even more tentatively this time. "But...we'll be brothers eventually..." _

_Tus snorted in disbelief and thrust a door open. "And a man can climb on arrows..." he huffed sarcastically._

_*End flashback*_

Tus snorted at just how wrong he'd been. He still couldn't believe how long it had taken him to accept Dastan as his own, how long it had taken for him to remove Garsivs' title and bestow it on the youngest of the trio. Little brother, that was what he had come to call Dastan more often than using his name.

In the beginning he had made sure Dastan knew he wasn't welcome, had allowed all of his anger at losing his mother to fall squarely on the sudden intruder until finally, one day, he'd had no choice but to relent and admit that, though their blood was indeed different, they were brothers in every other way. Besides that, Dastan had eventually shown him that his sarcastic remark was wrong because he'd proved that men could, in fact, climb on arrows. That had been even more humiliating.

He allowed himself a small laugh, remembering the triumphant look on Dastans' face when he'd done it the first time, his friends from the street firing arrows into a wall as he climbed them like a ladder. But then his face fell as the image of Dastan grinning down at him from atop the wall faded to be replaced with one of Dastan falling to the floor, mortally wounded by his own choice.

He growled to himself and stood up, having had enough of these thoughts. It was time to actually do something about it. He didn't know how he was going to manage it or what he was going to do, but he was going to do _something_.

And something told him that a trip to the market was exactly what would solve his problem.

* * *

Nizam knew that it was his goal to rid the world of ever knowing the existance of his nephews, but he'd known Dastan for fifteen years and, though he hated the boy, he couldn't supress a shudder as he watched the pale faced hasansan walk around the lad, looking him over and muttering to himself, all the while tracing his corpselike fingers along Dastans' face. It was disturbing.

"You can accomplish this, I trust." he said, if only to break the eerie, choking silence that had filled the room.

The hasansan hissed and turned toward him with the speed of the snake, the white paint on his face seeming to darken around his shadowed eyes. "If you may be silent, then yes." he purred, a notable hiss tainting his voice, "I see a strong spirit in this one..."

Nizam nodded, unable to deny it, even through his hatred. "Yes, very strong. Lion of Persia, the people call him."

The hasansan eyed him strangely. "Not the strength of which you speak. I see a different strength."

Nizam shrugged; it made no difference to him what sort of strength his nephew possessed, as long as it was enough to get him what he wanted he couldn't care less. "As you say then," he said quietly, "But do you see enough strength to gain what I desire?"

The hasansan made a small sound between a hiss and a purr, turning back to Dastan and carressing the boys' cheek with a cold hand. "I do not know what I see," he said, his solid black eyes glinting in the darkness, a sick look coming over him as he looked over his shoulder at Nizam, "But regardless of what it is, I like what it is I see."

Nizam shivered softly, moving closer. He didn't understand what the hasansan was saying, but whatever the meaning, it couldn't mean anything to him; he wouldn't allow it to. His youngest nephew, the adopted street rat, was lying on a hard stone table in the middle of a chamber deep inside the hasansan lair, his arms and legs chained in place with a leather strap over his stomach. It hardly seemed sensible to chain a corpse down, but considering the purpose that Nizam intended, it was very practical indeed.

The hasansan placed a hand on Dastans' chest, closing his eyes for a long moment and muttering quickly under his breath in a language Nizam didn't understand, it was a gutteral, harsh language that almost made Nizam feel dirty. But this had to happen if his goal was to be achieved. A grin spread across the hasansans' features as the man opened his eyes again. "You call him Lion," he purred, "And yet he fights like a wolf."

The hasansan closed his eyes again, lowering his tone and rubbing slow circles across Dastans' chest, eventually opening his eyes again. "With the fear of a shadow..." he whispered excitedly, "He will burn like the sun."

Nizam took a step back, not even wanted to know what the hasansan was so excited about. He knew this mans' breed; they were foul creatures. He had no wish to know what was in this vermans' mind.

The man hesitated and bowed his head. "He will fly again, against the winds of change itself...and hear the drums of war...the very heartbeat of nations past and future..." he looked up at Nizam, eyes still twinkling with sick delight, "He will awaken...he will be great...perhaps alone, but great. The gods themselves will whisper secrets and will look into an ocean and see fire, look into fire and see a reflection of himself..."

Nizam could feel that something was changing as the hasansan spoke, but he knew better than to interupt by this point. He held his breath, waiting to see if what the hasansan was doing would work.

The hasansan turned slowly back to Dastan, his eyes softening and a tone of sadness entering his voice. "He has a hurricane for a heart, his blood will be a racing sandstorm, this is what I see in him. And beyond all of that which can be, so many things there are...at the end of all things...he will live."

Dastans' eyes flew open, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. Nizam would never forget that, as he peered into his nephews eyes for the first time in so long, he couldn't forget what he saw there. It was like looking into the center of a storm of rain and fire, shadow and light. But, at the center of that storm, there was only death.

* * *

**Okay so like, WHAT? What did I just do? DASTY'S BACK! *Does a happy dance* But...um what's wrong with him, and OMG AT THE CWEEPY HASANSAN! I need to give that guy a name...it's annoying typing "The hasansan" over and over, although I DO like writing and saying "Hasansan" it's funnnnnn...okay what? lol ^?^ AVAS! WE DRAWETH NEARER TO THE STARTLING TWIST! ^;^ WHO'S WORRIED? *Raises hand* WHO'S WORRIED ABOUT MY SANITY? *Raises hand* AND WHO'S JUST WANTING ME TO HURRY UP AND STOP TYPING IN ALL CAPS? XD **


	5. 5

Chapter Four: Back and forth and back again

_Dastan didn't know where he was, but he didn't like it. He couldn't see in any direction, save for what was directly in front of him. On all sides he was surrounded by blackness, soundless night that enveloped the entire expansion of whatever this horrible, cold place was. Yet there was one thing there that brought comfort; his brother was there, Garsiv. They couldn't actually reach each other for the embrace that would surely occur were they able to meet; Garsiv was behind a wall that, though invisible, couldn't be breached by even Dastans' skill._

_That was another thing that wasn't quite so horrible, Dastan could move a little now, not as well as he would like, but if he focussed enough he was able to tell that he did, in fact, exist. In a way. But he was unable to speak, which was almost as cruel as being deprived of sight or sound. Although he did find that, if he listened hard, he could hear his brothers' voice. _

_"Ah, the Lion of Persia is struck down!" Garsivs' voice was light, teasing, a sound that Dastan couldn't help but enjoy as he drifted there, held still in the middle of the blank nothingness that surrounded him. "Ha! You don't look like you put up very much of a fight, brother. One wound? And I thought you would do better than that. Perhaps I was wrong."_

_Dastan rolled his eyes, watching Garsiv lean back against what he could only guess was a wall- it didn't look like there was anything there to him, but if he tried to move forward it blocked him- and beheld him with that familiar nonchalant look that was so unlike the killing rage that had possessed him in their last living encounter. _

_Garsiv went on, not noticing Dastans' searching stare. "So, little brother, I assume that Tus must have married Tamina, after you saved the world from our uncle or whatever it was you were doing. You don't look like you got much older since the last time I saw you."_

_Dastan sighed at that, the thought of Tamina. He wondered what was happening to her. He hadn't wanted to leave her like he had, trusting that she would figure out what to do on her own, without his aid. Not that he thought that she needed him, it was more the other way around, really..._

_"Ah, so you haven't figured out how this works yet, little brother? It's not that difficult, even if you are as daft as a-"_

_The rest of his sentence was drowned out as a cold hand wrapped itself around Dastan, dragging him back, away from his brother. He tried to make some sort of sound, to scream and kick and claw and get back to Garsiv. But it was a doomed effort and there was nothing he could do to stop the blinding light that flooded his vision._

* * *

Dastans' eyes flew open as he awoke, back arching at the sudden pain that enveloped him. He forced both eyes firmly shut once more, trying to block out the piercing light that felt like sharp blades to him. He realized, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he could feel himself moving, that there was no more silence. That he was breathing. What was this madness? He could vaguely recall something like this happening to him before...but when? How?

"Calm yourself. Open your eyes, we want to see them." a voice purred, a soft hiss mingling in the words and making Dastan shudder.

He kept his eyes closed, but still turned his head left and right as if hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was here with him. He knew perfectly well that there would be no vision if his eyes were closed, but having been ordered to open them he found that he couldn't quite do it; there was something wrong with whoever this person was. They weren't to be anymore trusted than the cold, clawlike fingers that carressed his face.

"Do as he says, Dastan."

Dastan wrenched his eyes open at that. "Uncle!" he gasped, trying in vain to lift his head so he could actually see. The best he could tell, he was lying on a table, chained in place, in a dark room with flickering, spitting torches lining the walls. That was odd...it had seemed so bright only moments before.

Nizam slipped into view, coming to stand beside him and staring down at him in a dettached sort of way. "Why do you call me uncle?" he asked quietly, "I have no nephew."

Dastan glared up at him, pulling against the chains that held him in place and wishing that he had a weapon with which to kill this man. "That's because you killed them!" he snarled.

Nizam took a step back, gazing at something Dastan had been trying to avoid looking at. "Well, Javeed? I see no control, only anger."

There was a faint hiss and Dastan couldn't help turning to see what had made the noise. It was a man, tall and slender, pale paint covering every inch of skin that was visible on him, but with darker paint around his eyes and some sort of dark substance coating his lips. His hair was like none Dastan had ever seen before, it was dark, yes, but it wasn't brown or black, like Dastan was used to. This hair was red.

Dastan blinked in surprise, tilting his head and staring in awe; what sort of person was this? Utterly unnatural, that was certain. No one Dastan had ever seen had red hair. This man must be a daemon of some sort, some sort of creature from another world. However, he was jerked out of his fantasies when the man spoke.

"You know nothing, the control is complete. He will do as you wish."

Dastan drew breath to say that he would never do as his uncle said, but was interrupted by said uncles' musings.

"How do I know that what you say is true? You have failed me before, Javeed."

The man, Javeed, glared coldly at Nizam. "Once. One time I have failed you, never again." he clapped twice, "Khatereh!" he called, looking over his shoulder into the blackness.

Nizam smiled down at Dastan, a look coming over him that clearly said Dastan wasn't going to like whatever was coming. "You've been unwise in choosing your allies as of late, Dastan." he whispered, "But now you will not aid them, you will give aid to me, bring me the dagger."

Dastan scowled back at him. "Never."

Nizam chuckled softly at that. "We will see."

There was a quiet shuffle from somewhere in the shadows and Javeed adapted a sick smile, his cheeks rising into his eyes and the corners of that dark paint turning up as he beamed at something Dastan couldn't see. He motioned for whatever it was to come forward, stretching out his hands and pulling his fingers towards himself, arms wide as if to embrace the shadows themselves. "Come, Khatereh, there is nothing to fear. And you know that your reward will be great."

There was another shuffle, and Dastan felt a flicker of fear stir within him. Was this man with blood-coloured hair summoning a creature of some sort? Was he calling up some sort of apparation? Was he...Dastan felt his fear subside just a little as he finally saw what lurked in the darkness; it was nothing more than a small girl, just a little younger than himself, by the look of her. She approached slowly, head down, clearly wary of the lot of them.

Javeed placed an arm on her shoulder, stooping to reach her own level with his penetrating gaze. "How do you wake, my young Sholeh?" he whispered, soliciting a small giggle from the girl.

"No differently than the last, brother, as far as you would care. What is this," her gaze wandered over Dastan and she moved a little closer, tilting her head and peering at him carefully, "gift, that you've brought from the other place?"

Nizam laughed, staring at her in amusement. "Gift, you say? Indeed, he is." he said, smiling mockingly at Dastan.

The girl continued to stare at the young prince, blinking a few times in confusion. She glanced up at Javeed, her eyes wide with wonder. "But why bring him back, brother? Wouldn't this one be better off had you left him? He's so lonely..."

Dastan gaped; how could she know anything about it? "Wha-?"

Javeed smirked and pushing the girl a little closer to Dastan. "Because, Khatereh, he is needed. But we must ensure that he has been properly awoken," he crooned in that silken, eerie tone, "go ahead and look, I doubt that he'll bite you like the dog did."

Khatereh flashed him a glare, still looking carefully at Dastan. "What are you called?" she asked, her voice soft, barely audible. That was a welcome change after the seeming shrieking of Nizam and Javeed.

He watched her warily, debating for a moment whether to actually reply. "I...my name is Dastan." he finally said, deciding that he could always deny it later.

Khatereh smiled at that. "Dastan...a fitting name for you." her voice took on an apologetic tone, "This might hurt," she said, "but if you struggle too much you'll go back to where you were...no one likes it there, so I would suggest you hold still."

Dastan frowned, not sure if he should be curious or terrified. "What's going to-" his voice trailed off in a sharp yelp as the girl placed her hands on his chest, muttering something under her breath and pressing down. Hard. It felt like a sword was being slowly inserted into him. He writhed and jerked desperately, trying to escape from her touch. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was gone. He lay there, panting, and tried to remember what had just happened.

Khatereh was grinning triumphantly at Javeed. "Oh yes, brother, it worked! You have done well this time, only those close to him will know."

Dastan, still gasping for breath, cast them both a suspicious look. "Will know what?" he snarled, "What have you done? What is this place?"

Javeed chuckled and shook his head. "Go back to sleep, little prince." he murmered, running a clammy hand along Dastans' neck, making him try to pull away from the contact only to find that the chains were, unluckily, still holding him secure. The mans' eyes lit up with something Dastan couldn't name and he made a small movement, his hand suddenly pressing down on Dastans' windpipe, cutting of his breath.

Dastans' eyes widened and he struggled more, unable to escape. He was aware that he was, however unintentionally, whimpering, making small sounds of distress. Dying. He felt light headed, faint, dizzy. His world was spinning and flickering in and out of focus until he could see nothing but shadows. He wasn't sure if he imagined it, but he was fairly certain that he could see the faintest outline of Khatereh standing in one corner, head bowed low and both hands over her face...

Then the world faded and there was nothing.

* * *

**OMG cweepy hasansan killed Dastan AGAIN? He's already been taken out TWICE! He he...you can sort of guess the direction of this now, right right? And what on EARTH is up with Khatereh? *Note: she should become the main thing you're worried to no end about now* XD Next chapter will have insight into Tus and Tamina, and, if you lot behave and stuff, a fluffy flashback! ^;^ **


End file.
